Huo Ranyin made a trip to the village behind Juanshan in person, located the trash collection station, and met with its owner.
The rest of the task didn’t require much effort. He presented his police credentials, and the owner, having no intention of colluding with suspicious elements to deceive an officer, quickly related what had happened at the time.
The person who had paid the money to retrieve the letter was indeed, undeniably, Ji Xun.
But who was the one who had left the letter there in the first place?
Huo Ranyin asked the owner about the individual’s appearance. Regrettably, the owner only recalled that the person who came to drop off the letter was tall and well-built; as for their face, it was completely concealed beneath a hat and a face mask, rendering it unidentifiable.
However, the letter that Ji Xun had obtained was now in Huo Ranyin’s hands as well.
The owner had handed it over to Huo Ranyin entirely on his own initiative: “I was a bit curious at the time, so I sneaked a quick look. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so I just took a photo. I’m handing it over to the police now.”
The letter was encrypted.
All along the journey back to the precinct, the contents of this letter replayed themselves repeatedly in Huo Ranyin’s mind. Upon arriving at the station, he headed straight for Bureau Chief Zhou’s office, happening to cross paths with Yuan Yue just as the man was stepping out.
Yuan Yue offered him a friendly nod.
Huo Ranyin responded with a brief acknowledgment. The exact moment his head dipped, a thought flashed through his mind: Would Yuan Yue happen to know the cipher key to decode this letter? Consequently, a request to stay escaped his lips before his rationality could intervene:
“Captain Yuan, wait a moment.”
Yuan Yue looked back at him, quite surprised.
Yuan Yue, who had just departed, returned to the room, bringing an extra person—Huo Ranyin—along with him. Chief Zhou, who was currently sipping American ginseng cooling tea from a thermos flask to soothe his temper, didn’t feel like speaking; he simply raised an eyebrow, casting a questioning gaze toward them.
This time, Huo Ranyin held nothing back. In front of him stood his superior, and beside him was a colleague he trusted. From Chen Jiashu to Ji Xun, and then to Meng Fushan, he laid out every single one of his thoughts and deductions based on the web of clues, articulating them piece by piece.
Unconsciously, Chief Zhou set down his tea, and Yuan Yue lowered his head, staring intently at the photograph of the letter.
After a few moments, Yuan Yue looked up, addressing both Chief Zhou and Huo Ranyin: “My apologies, I can’t make anything out of this. Back when I was partnered with Ji Xun, I never once saw him compose any form of encrypted text.”
“Then we’ll hand it over to the department’s specialists to see if it can be deciphered,” Chief Zhou said.
“I am requesting a wiretap on Ji Xun’s phone,” Huo Ranyin said in a deep voice. He had once stated that he would never monitor Ji Xun’s communications—but that was before he possessed tangible evidence.
The words fell like a heavy bass note into the air, splashing a ripple of tense, suffocating silence through the room.
“What do you think?” Chief Zhou asked, pointing a finger at Yuan Yue.
“I believe Ji Xun is clean,” Yuan Yue said after a brief pause. “But if Captain Huo deems it necessary, I agree to it. I trust that Ji Xun won’t let anyone down. Once we rule Ji Xun out, we can concentrate more of our resources in the right direction.”
Huo Ranyin shot a completely impassive glance at Yuan Yue.
The man’s response was better than he had anticipated. He had assumed that, out of his deep trust in Ji Xun, Yuan Yue would offer fierce resistance; no, perhaps raising no objection at all was the truest form of trust Yuan Yue could show toward Ji Xun.
“Request denied,” Chief Zhou said firmly.
“Chief…” Huo Ranyin took a step forward.
“What are your grounds for a wiretap?” Chief Zhou fired back, his voice dropping low, rumbling like thunder buried deep within thick storm clouds. “Because of a single letter? Meng Fushan certainly bears heavy suspicion for the murder of Chen Jiashu, but who can prove that the one who delivered this letter was actually Meng Fushan? You’ve crossed paths with Meng Fushan before—did you find any trace of his silhouette in the surrounding surveillance footage?”
Meng Fushan had saved Ji Xun and Huo Ranyin once back in Qin City. In the aftermath, out of a desire to protect Meng Fushan, Huo Ranyin had withheld that detail from his official reports. It wasn’t until recently that he had privately explained the entire matter to Chief Zhou: Meng Zhonghai, the missing person the police were looking for, was originally named Meng Fushan.
Huo Ranyin knit his brows tightly.
He had already discovered during his previous trip to that village that most of the surveillance cameras there had been vandalized. Due to the tight timeline, the reinstallation and repair project hadn’t even commenced yet. With no working cameras, it was naturally impossible to unearth any proof of Meng Fushan’s presence.
The crux of the issue lay right there.
Although his suspicion of Ji Xun had begun to show its roots… it still remained nothing more than an ungrounded doubt, floating like duckweed.
Faced with Chief Zhou’s explicit opposition, a faint voice inevitably bubbled up from the depths of his clouded mind, asking a quiet question:
Huo Ranyin, your suspicion of Ji Xun stems from the justice you have always fiercely maintained.
If this suspicion turns out to be a mistake, is the justice you maintain still justice?
Are you standing firm for the sake of true justice, or are you merely standing firm for the sake of your own stubbornness?
Later that evening, Huo Ranyin assigned tasks to the members of his team, primarily placing them in charge of the Second Division’s affairs during his absence.
Once Tan Mingjiu understood exactly where Huo Ranyin was heading and what he intended to do, his head was filled with question marks: “Ji Xun… is that the same Ji Xun I know?”
“Yes.”
“Captain Huo, did the higher-ups authorize this trip of yours?” Tan Mingjiu asked with extreme caution. This question was critical; it dictated whether the bureau had officially determined that Ji Xun was compromised.
“No.”
“Since the higher-ups haven’t approved it, and considering Ji Xun was, after all, our former comrade, his legal awareness and moral integrity shouldn’t be in question…” Tan Mingjiu hesitated, stopping just short of saying, “There’s no need for this, there’s really no need.”
“Are you the roundworm inside Ji Xun’s stomach?” Huo Ranyin asked flatly. Before Tan Mingjiu could speak, he let out a cold snort. “Even I am not a roundworm in his stomach, and I wouldn’t guarantee a single thing for him. What right do you have to vouch for him?”
“…”
Tan Mingjiu wanted to argue but found himself speechless; the analogy felt rather bizarre.
Realizing he couldn’t fight city hall, Tan Mingjiu had no choice but to accept Huo Ranyin’s directives, acting as a shield for Huo Ranyin in front of Chief Zhou while the captain was away.
Leaving the precinct without a moment’s delay, Huo Ranyin took a car straight to the high-speed rail station. On the way, he dialed Ji Xun’s number.
The call was answered almost instantly.
“You’re still in Fujian, aren’t you?” Huo Ranyin said without preamble. He turned his head to watch the rapidly shifting landscape outside the car window, his lips curling into a sharp smile. “I’ve got some good news for you. We’ve unearthed a new lead on Chen Jiashu’s side, and it points straight to Fujian. I’m heading out there on official business, so I can drop by and see you while I’m at it.”
“Ji Xun, are you happy?”
_
Author’s Note:
Huo Ranyin: I’m coming to catch you. Are you happy?
